


My Treat

by druxykexy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (mostly) post-recovery Bucky, Bottom Bucky, Embarrassment, First Time, Humor, M/M, Natasha is underappreciated, Romance, oblivious everyone, unwarranted destruction of perfectly good sex toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2370668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy/pseuds/druxykexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing a hotel room is practical. Sharing one with an amnesiac, ex-assassin best friend is even better. And if that just happens to get in the way of a certain Ex-Soviet’s plans to set him up on dates, well, Steve has no complaints.</p>
<p>Until Natasha gets a new objective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Treat

“What do you think she’s saying?” Bucky asks, leaning close to Steve.

Steve catches scent of his aftershave and grins. So much is different about Bucky now, but that hasn’t changed. He’s still vain.

Bucky’s eyes flicker suspiciously from Steve’s expression to where Natasha is making arrangements with the hotel clerk, and Steve is happy to let him misinterpret it.

“You could move closer,” Steve says.

Bucky doesn't, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of the clerk either. Steve thinks he might be trying to read his lips.

Unlike Bucky, Steve is able to hear what’s being said, and even if his Japanese isn’t quite as good as Natasha’s, he wouldn’t have any trouble following the rapid conversation—if he was actually trying.

Natasha glances back over her shoulder, a lock of her hair swinging loose as she sends them a slow, deliberate smile.

Bucky frowns. “It’s just a hotel room. There’s not much she can do with that,” he says, as if he wants it to be true but doesn’t think that it is.

Steve is determined not to be concerned. For once, they’ve arrived the night before they’re expected to be anywhere. They’ll have enough time to shower, eat breakfast, and maybe even do more than skim the briefing before the press conference. He’s not going to ruin it by worrying over something trivial. Besides, most of the time Natasha’s not actually up to anything. She just wants everyone to think she is.

Natasha completes her business with the clerk, giving him a polite bow and accepting a manila envelope, before she returns to where Bucky and Steve are standing.

“Your room is 309,” she says, addressing them both.

Bucky’s face relaxes, and he gives her a brief nod.

“Thank you, Nat.” Steve smiles briefly at her before he shifts it over to Bucky. That Natasha got them only one room is proof that she’s onboard with the plan to prevent this trip from becoming any more stressful than it needed to be.

On the flight over, she’d insisted that Bucky and Steve needed take advantage of the free evening by going out to a bar or club. She thought it’d be good for them, and that they should get separate rooms, because no woman would ever want to have sex with a man while his friend is sitting on the other bed eating pizza and watching boring movies. Privacy is _essential_ for intimacy—unless they’re secretly into having people _watch_ …?

He’s mimicking her, he realizes as they walk to the elevator, and even if it’s only in his head, it’s still not nice. Not when the only reason she pushes is because she’s worried about them being alone. Still, it’d be nice if she’d stop. Steve isn’t lonely. He has friends. In fact, even without Bucky having all of his memories back, he and Steve have fallen into the same easy friendship they’ve always had. Over the last year, they’ve settled into a comfortable routine where they spend most of their downtime together, and Steve is content to let it stay that way—even if all they do is lie around eating pizzas and watching movies in his apartment.

“It’s a nice hotel,” Natasha says as she presses the button for the third floor. “I’ve stayed here before.”

That’s worrying. Considering. “Business?”

“I’ll let you decide.” Her smile suggests she’s hiding something, which means she’s not. If she actually had anything to hide, no one would be able to tell.

“Does the room have a fridge?” Steve asks, changing the subject.

“It does.” Her expression goes blank in a way it never would on a mission. “Two.”

It’s a clue, a courtesy she reserves for friends, and while Steve’s glad to be on that list, that doesn’t stop him from beginning to feel a slight bit of apprehension. It’s possible that Bucky’s right. Maybe she is up to something.

“Two?” Bucky asks.

“One is for you to use, the other sells things. Like a...” She pauses as if searching for a word even though it’s clear she already has it. “Like a vending machine.”

Steve frowns at that. He can imagine the kind of prices a vending machine in hotel room would have. It would be designed to take advantage of out-of-towners who don’t know where to get better deals, those who want convenience above all else, and anyone who’s had too much to drink.

On the way to the hotel, he’d noticed that there was a grocery store within easy walking distance. Picking up food from there would be a much better option.

 “309,” Bucky announces, and Steve looks up just in time to watch the door to their room swing open automatically.

Every other hotel Steve has stayed in still used keys. Even if the metal kind had long been replaced by things that look like credit cards—the reusable pieces of plastic that had replaced money—they still did the important job of locking and unlocking the door.

Steve’s surprise gives Bucky the edge he needs to push past him and enter the room first. It’s something Bucky always does if he gets the chance. If there’s an unexpected threat, if someone is waiting for them, then he wants to be the one to neutralize it—or the one who takes the hit. Because he believes that he’s the most expendable—and that is exactly why Steve does everything he can to beat him to it.

Cursing, Steve moves to follow, but is stopped by a touch on his arm. He looks down to where Natasha’s neatly painted nails are contrasting vividly against his sleeve, and then over to the manila envelope being pressed into his hand.

“Everything you’ll need is in here,” Natasha says. “And don’t forget to read the note I left you. Oh and, Steve…” Something in her tone draws his attention to her eyes, and her expression is no longer blank. It’s alarmingly gleeful. “Have fun.”

She gives him a shove, and he allows the force to propel him through the door. After all, it’s where he wanted to go in the first place. He still intends to turn around and give her a friendly jab about her manners, but before he can he sees something that clears everything else from his mind.

Bucky is standing, tense and unmoving, in the center of the room. Every line of his body is frozen, like he’s seen something that’s too much for him to handle, something he doesn’t even want to _try_ to handle. And that’s not how Bucky responds to anything, at least, not since he was very, very small.

The door clicks shut behind Steve. He spins around, but there’s no one there, not even Natasha.

It’s then that he notices how pink the door is. Almost as pink as the wall surrounding it.

Not beige. Not some interior decorator’s idea of light red—no, this is the pink of candy hearts, of show girls’ underthings, and—

“Valentines,” Bucky says. “It’s like we’re inside a Valentine’s card.”

Steve wants to smile at the comparison, but he can’t because it might be true. And a card like that is designed to express—to express… Well, clearly this place is for one purpose, and it isn’t rest. Mounds of heart-shaped pillows dominate the bed, along with deep red sheets of silk or satin or something else that’s blindingly shiny. There’s a bathtub in the middle of the room big enough to be a swimming pool, and it’s not only pink but heart-shaped. Red and silver candles surround the rim, and the occasional drip of wax makes them look like they’re bleeding. Mirrored walls create hearts within hearts within—

_Natasha_. Steve’s fingers tighten on the envelope, the sound of crumpling paper reminding him it’s still in his hands. He looks down. Everything they would need was inside, she’d said.

He has no desire to open it. Not when it likely contains directions to a bar where they can find women for a wild night. Because it never occurs to Natasha, that when he says he wants a quiet night in, he actually means _a quiet night in_ , and it’s not code for: _I can_ _’t get laid by myself, Natasha, I really need your help_.

Steve sets the envelope on the counter beside the television—the large, flat television directly across from the bed.

“Steve?”

There’s an odd note in Bucky’s voice, but Steve isn’t able to place it. He can’t stop thinking that if Natasha has decided that they need this much intervention, then maybe she doesn’t trust them to find dates at all. Maybe she’s made arrangements for women come to them. Maybe she’s _paid_ for women. He won’t—

“Steve?”

“What?” He forces himself to look at Bucky, and he’s surprised to see concern on his face.

“I wasn’t—I mean, did you ask Nat to set this up?”

“No.” Steve frowns. “This is all her.” He doesn’t know why he’d think otherwise. Especially since there’s only one bed and that’s the kind of thing Natasha would do as a joke. It went right along with the one about how they have to do everything together because they’re really just two halves of one semi-functional geezer. But just because they sometimes share things like food, or clothing, or drinks, that doesn’t mean they share _everything_.

And then Steve has to stop, and to breathe, because what if—what if she’s only paid for one woman?

“Right.” Bucky nods, his shoulders rocking lightly and Steve’s eyes are drawn to the motion. They fall to his chest, to the angle of his waist, and it’s easy to imagine what he would look like—the two of them on the bed, and another person…

“You ok?” Bucky asks.

Steve drags his attention back to the conversation, doing everything he can not to think about having a three-way with Bucky. Those kinds of thoughts belong with all his other not-so-good-Bucky-thoughts—securely locked away. And it’s not like he doesn’t have experience in controlling himself. He’s only had to do that around Bucky since…well, since puberty.

“I’m fine.” Steve forces himself to smile. He hopes it doesn’t look as false as it feels.

“I guess Nat thinks if she can’t get us laid, then it’s got to be because we’re…” Bucky’s face starts to redden, and he turns away as if to hide it.

It’s an odd reaction, especially since _not interested_ is the only way Steve can think of to finish that sentence.

Bucky still isn’t looking at him when he continues. “I mean, she’d only think something like that about us because she wouldn’t want to blame it on her matchmaking skills. And also, with all the time I spend at your place, maybe she thinks…” He makes a vague gesture between them, and for a moment it seems almost obscene.

But that can’t be right. Obviously, Steve needs to do a better job of repressing his not-so-good-thoughts. But even so, he still has no idea why Bucky would find Natasha’s actions so embarrassing. So what if they don’t go out to bars anymore? There’s not much point in drinking when it doesn’t have an effect on him, and as for Bucky, well, no one really wants the loss of control that could result in. And there’s nothing wrong with not sleeping with a lot of women anyway. It’s their choice to make, and—

And that’s when Steve gets it.

Bucky doesn’t look up when Steve moves to stand in front of him, although his gaze does shift from the floor to a slightly higher spot on the wall. Steve considers it an improvement.

“What Nat thinks doesn’t matter,” Steve says, and he means it. It doesn’t matter to him what other people think. But he also knows that Bucky’s different. He wouldn’t like being thought of as somebody who’s unable to attract women, that after everything he’s been through, he’s too damaged to pull it off.

Bucky nods even though it’s clear he’s not convinced.

“But if the other part’s important to you, well.” Steve shrugs. “If you want to get laid tonight, that’s fine with me.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, and he slowly turns his head toward Steve. “What?”

“You can’t be a martyr forever. That idea has to go.” Steve points a finger at him. “Don’t make me pound it out of you.”

The redness in Bucky’s face spreads to his ears and neck in an all-out blush, and that doesn’t make any sense because it’s not like Steve is suggesting anything extreme. Bucky certainly isn’t a virgin. Although, if he hasn’t had sex since they’ve been reunited—and that’s certainly possible with the amount of time they’ve spent together—then it’s also possible that he doesn’t actually remember having sex. Ever _._ But that doesn’t make him innocent again. Not technically. Or…wait.

That’s not important. What’s important is that Bucky is happy, and if that means he needs to bring a date back to the hotel, then Steve is not going to stand in his way.

No matter how much he hates the thought.

Bucky still hasn’t said anything, and while he doesn’t look as if he finds the idea of a date as unpleasant as Steve does, he doesn’t look excited about it either. Or maybe he feels like Steve did the first time he was talked into going on a double date with Bucky—panicked and a little confused. Or a lot confused. But that had been for very different reasons.

Steve lifts his shoulders in the most casual shrug he can muster and leans back against the wall. Maybe if he appears relaxed enough some of it will rub off on Bucky. Or maybe humor would help. At least, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“I know it can’t be easy, not when it feels like you’re starting from scratch. But you’re not exactly bad at this. Even if you don’t remember, I do. You’ve just been down for too long, and,” Steve tries to give him a conspiring smirk, the kind that works so well for Tony and Natasha and just about everyone else, “it’s time you found yourself back on top.”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, and while Steve knows it was one of his cornier jokes, he’d expected at least a smile—and probably an eye-roll, but definitely a smile. What he doesn’t expect is to find Bucky’s eyes boring into him like he’s trying to find something, some bit of knowledge that can be wrenched out of Steve through the force of his gaze alone. Steve is on the verge of taking it back, and maybe even apologizing, when he sees Bucky swallow as if in preparation to speak.

“But,” Bucky pauses, his attitude cautious, “is this something _you_ want?”

_Want_ is not the word Steve would use to describe spending the evening in the lobby of a love hotel while Bucky gets intimate with someone else.

But he’ll manage. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”

Steve hadn’t thought it was possible for Bucky to look any more shocked. But before Steve can even begin to understand what he’s done wrong, Bucky’s whole demeanor changes.

He leans forward, all of his attention on Steve. “You are?”

“You can be considerate when you want to be.” Steve shrugs, uncomfortable with how close the conversation is coming to things he doesn’t want to think about. “Well, most of the time anyway. It’s not like you were a jerk about it.” It’s meant as a joke, but it comes out more serious than he intends.

Bucky shakes his head in disbelief. “But I at least returned the favor, right?”

“I didn’t want you to.” Steve frowns at the way Bucky’s face falls. “Not back then. But it’s different now. You can make it up to me if you want.”

Bucky’s human hand balls into a fist, and while Steve thinks it’s a sign of his growing determination, it’s not quite the response he’s after. For a long moment it doesn’t look like Bucky’s going to say anything else. But then he does.

“Ok.”

Even though Steve’s won, he still feels crushed. “Great.” He does his best to look encouraging. “Then I’ll just pack up a few things and get out of your way.”

“You’re leaving?” Bucky’s confusion is so complete it nearly startles a laugh out of Steve, which would be a terrible idea, considering what it could do to his friend’s pride.

“I’m not going to stay and _watch_ , Buck.” Steve stops, realizing what Bucky might mean. “But I guess I can go to the bar with you, if you want help scoping out the dames.” Steve winces. He’s not supposed to say things like _dames_ anymore, but sometimes stuff like that still slips out. It’s a habit he’s working on breaking. At least Bucky is unlikely to be offended.

“The dames,” Bucky repeats softly. His eyes go far away, and strangely, he seems to deflate.

“But after that it’s just me and my sketchbook.”

“No.” Bucky looks down at his hands. He flexes them, flesh and metal moving in synch. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m tired.”

“But—”

“Let’s just watch a movie. We can get something to eat from that grocery store down the block.”

While Steve appreciates the reasonable way that Bucky thinks, he’s not ready to let it go. “But you said ‘ok,’ and—”

“Drop it.”

Steve stares at him, but the only thing he can read on Bucky is his desire not to be read.

After a moment, Bucky releases a long, slow breath. He ducks his head, as if he’s attempting to dodge the tension.

“If you keep trying to set me up on dates,” Bucky says, “you’re going to turn into Natasha.”

Steve holds back the spark of amusement he feels at the image. “She’s just showing us she cares.”

“Is that what this is about?” Bucky waves at the room.

“Something like that.” It’s hard to continue arguing for something he doesn’t want anyway, and Steve allows himself a small smile. “Let’s just hope she didn’t pay to have any women sent up.”

“She didn’t.” Bucky seems unusually certain about that.

“Maybe. But let me know if you change your mind if they do show up.”

“If.”

Steve shakes his head. “If.”

It’s clear that Bucky’s ready for a change of subject, and Steve doesn’t think that’s a bad idea either. He turns away to look for a distraction, and the two fridges draw his attention.

Steve goes to the smaller one first and finds it empty. The larger one has a regular door, but when he opens it up, the inside is laid out like a lot of other vending machines he’s seen. He lets his eyes drift over the prices. There’s something satisfying in looking at them. It’s probably similar to the way some people view disasters—or at least, the way people who’ve never been in a disaster view them.

The top two rows contain a variety of drinks, and their costs are as bad as he expects. The third has several packages he can’t quite identify. The puffed, stylized characters barely resemble the words he studied years ago in an army issued tent. But they’re likely snacks since some have pictures of things like watermelon slices and a…kiwi? Probably a kiwi, and then on the bottom row he sees—

“Nat left a note in the envelope,” Bucky says, and it’s a relief to look at him and not down anymore.

“What does it say?” Steve asks, and he’s grateful that those are the only words that come out and nothing to give away what he’s seen.

“It…” Bucky frowns at the paper in his hands. “It’s not important.” He stuffs the note, envelope and all, into his pocket.

Steve closes the fridge. “Let me read it.”

“No.” Bucky looks worried—no, not worried—trapped.

Steve’s pulse quickens as he approaches Bucky. If there’s a threat, if a new danger has come to light…

Bucky’s face is slightly pulled, his lips tight, but he makes no move to stop Steve as he retrieves the papers from his pocket.

Steve’s eyes immediately focus on the small neat handwriting he recognizes as Natasha’s:

_Hi fellas,_

_This room is a special present from me to you. I mean it_ _—that_ _’s my personal card in the envelope, so you better put it to good use. Treat yourself to some of the things in the vending machine_ _—you know which ones I mean_ _—I bet there are things in there you never even imagined back in old people time. So Steve, be a big spender for once, and buy Bucky some of that strawberry scented_ _—and by scented they mean flavored_ _—body gel because I bet he would love licking it off of your_ _—_

Steve stuffs the note, envelope and all, into his pocket.

It’s obviously a prank. A joke to get back at them for not appreciating her matchmaking. It has to be.

But unlike most of her jokes, this one isn’t harmless. Not when there’s a risk that it’ll expose Steve’s feelings—that it’ll expose how unrealistic they are. And if Bucky finds out it’ll change the way he sees Steve. It will make him uncomfortable—and the last thing he wants is for Bucky to be uncomfortable.

Like the silence that’s stretching out now. This isn’t good. They need to be able to laugh about this, even if it’s at Steve’s expense.

“Great sense of humor Nat has.” Steve tries to sound annoyed and amused and not at all like Bucky’s reaction holds any special meaning for him.

But Bucky doesn’t respond at all.

Steve tries again. “Guess that explains the one bed.”

Bucky actually flinches.

_Damn_. “I’ll have a talk with her,” Steve offers.

“No.”

“Trust me, I want to.”

Bucky’s eyes lock onto Steve’s, but his expression is hard to place. “I want revenge.”

Steve is quiet for a moment. “If we got her a room like this,” he says lightly, “she’d use it.”

“So that’s what we’ll do. Me and you. We’ll use it.”

Steve is still trying to figure out how those words can possibly mean what they seem to, when Bucky continues.

“Remember what she wrote at the end?”

Steve shakes his head. He only remembers the part about Bucky _licking_ him.

“The coordinates for another hotel?”

“Uh…” Steve’s not following his logic, which is strange because he’s usually faster than this.

Bucky frowns at his confusion. “Because she doesn’t expect us to actually stay here?”

_Oh._ Right. “She expects us”—probably just him, if he’s truthful—“to run out of here the second we realize where we are. Pay the bill without looking the clerk in the eye—”

“You pay in the room, you don’t have to talk to the clerk.”

Steve nods. “Ok, but after that, she thinks we’ll beat it out of here as fast as we can.”

“And even if she did get this room sincerely—which she didn’t—she wouldn’t think we’d do anything to run up the bill. Not two fossils like us.”

Actually, there are plenty of things two fossils like them could do in a place like this.

Those are bad thoughts and Steve locks them in their place.

“So, let's do it. Run the bill up as high as possible,” Bucky says, somehow as if he’s serious.

“You want—” Steve clears his throat because it doesn’t seem to be working so well. “To stay here? Both of us?”

Bucky gives him a look. “It’s not like we actually have to do anything. This place is expensive and it’s by the hour. We could stay the whole night, order room service, and,” Bucky motions in the direction of the vending machine, “buy everything we can. Shove it all in a drawer or something.”

It would be ridiculous to be disappointed. Of course, he can’t actually _use_ the room with Bucky.

“It’s just an idea.” Bucky stops to rub the back of his neck.

“No, it’s a good one.” Steve forces a grin.

“There’s plenty of space on the bed, but if you want, I can sleep on the floor.”

“No, we’ve slept in worse conditions.” Two men in a huge bed isn’t much of a hardship, not after the army. Or Hydra.

“There’s also the slot machine.”

“No,” Steve says. “She’s got better luck than us. We’d win her a fortune.”

Bucky looks like he’s going to argue, but then he stops, his expression growing thoughtful.

Finally he nods. “Alright, then we can start with this.” Bucky goes to the vending machine and opens it.

Steve watches as Bucky’s eyes scan the merchandise, and he can tell when he gets to the good stuff because his lips part in silent _O_.

“There’s a—” Bucky blinks slowly and raises his gaze to Steve’s. “There are some interesting things in here.”

“It’s strange to keep them refrigerated like that,” Steve says. “They’d be cold.”

Bucky snorts. “Maybe some people like that.”

Steve shakes his head and crouches beside him. Their eyes meet and for a moment it’s like being on a mission, or maybe just a pretend one back on the playground, a map scratched in the dirt between them.

“Plan of attack?” Steve asks, more for old time’s sake than because they need one.

But of course, he doesn’t remember. “You’ve got the card,” Bucky reminds him.

“Guess I do.” Steve retrieves the envelope from his pocket. The mood is easier now, though, and he’s determined to keep it that way. “Well,” he raises his eyebrows, waggling them. “What can I get you, soldier?”

He shouldn’t enjoy embarrassing Bucky this much.

But Bucky recovers quickly, rolling his eyes. “You can start by buying me a drink.” He points at one of the slots.

Pleased that he’s playing along, Steve inserts the card into the reader. It doesn’t seem to need a pin number or signature. The light flashes and he slides the door open.

It’s tea, and he hands the bottle to Bucky, who inclines his head in thanks.

Bucky takes a drink. “Not bad.” He starts to raise his eyebrows at Steve, copying him from a moment ago, but doesn’t quite make it before he breaks into a grin and shakes his head.

Chuckling, Steve gets to work purchasing the rest of the tea. After that, he moves on to beer, energy drinks, and water. None of it requires refrigeration, which is good since they would run out of space in the other fridge, and he doesn’t want anything to go to waste. They can take what’s left over with them when they leave.

“That’s it for the drinks.” Steve sets the last bottle, and the easy part, aside. Then he hesitates.

Bucky doesn’t. “That’s the most expensive.” He points at something on the bottom row.

Which is as good a place to start as any. Steve swipes the card and removes the item, a pink and blue package that’s small enough to fit in his palm. He’s not familiar with all of the characters on the label, but what he can make out brings heat to his face and neck, and the only English, a cheerful “Now! With 30% more power!” doesn’t help.

He holds it up for Bucky’s inspection—or maybe just to let him have his fair share of discomfort.

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line as he shakes his head at Steve.

Steve shrugs, hiding his grin as he sets the package down on the carpet.

The next item is larger, and despite its glaring purple color, it has enough likeness to the real thing that Steve identifies it the moment it’s in his grasp. He releases it quickly, letting it drop onto the first item, and does his best to ignore Bucky’s amused huff.

A whirring noise, loud and jarring, starts from inside the pink and blue foil. Steve snatches the purple thing off of it, but removing the weight isn’t enough to stop the sound.

Absently, he’s aware of Bucky’s laughter, but Steve keeps his focus on his goal as he rips open the package, and it’s—not what he’s expecting. It looks like a ring, only it’s bigger than anyone’s finger except maybe the Hulk’s—a thought he destroys before it fully forms—but the material is clear and rubbery, with raised bumps around the band. The top is a pale rectangle, like some hideous fleshy jewel, and that’s the source of the vibration.

There is no obvious way to turn it off.

Steve crushes it in his fingers. It makes a popping, grinding sound, and then—blessedly—it stops moving.

“You killed it,” Bucky manages between gasps. He’s rocking on his heels, and at any second Steve expects him to end up flat on his back.

It’s then that Steve realizes what he’s holding in his other hand. His face is burning as he tosses the item behind him, although he manages to do it carefully so as not to hit a wall. The last thing he needs is to have to explain how he accidentally put a hole through the plaster with _that_.

“Your face is—oh god—” And that’s Bucky’s tipping point. His collapse is surprisingly controlled, however, as he sprawls on the ground, his arms wrapped around himself and his eyes squeezed shut in laughter.

Steve hasn’t seen him laugh like this since...before the war, maybe even before he enlisted. And in that moment, Steve decides that he would gladly purchase a dozen dildos if it kept a grin like that on Bucky’s face.

He winces at that thought, grateful that Bucky’s not a telepath because _Christ_ does Steve not think straight around him. Although it’s true, Steve would do anything for him, and enduring a few moments of humiliation is hardly the worst thing he can imagine.

Watching Bucky with his guard down, his face free of shadows, Steve feels his own grin stretching big enough to hurt, and there’s warmth in his chest as he returns to the task at hand.

By the time Steve’s done, Bucky has regained his composure, or at least, he’s wiped away the last of his tears and is mostly upright again. Between them is a pile of small packets (many of them _scented)_ , an assortment of things that vibrate, and an object resembling a giant pacifier (although he suspects it’s not meant for the mouth). There’s also another mystery package, only this one has a diagram on the back involving a part of the human body Steve doesn’t care to identify and something that looks like a cross between a corkscrew and a candleholder. But, regardless of what any of them were intended for, they had fulfilled their current purpose in costing Natasha money.

“Well, that’s it,” Steve says. “I guess we could order food.” There are other services—and movies—available, but he’s not as eager to purchase any of those. This was awkward enough.

“Not yet.” Bucky gets to his feet and stretches. “I need a shower first.”

Steve nods, relieved.

As Bucky heads to the bathroom, Steve tries to decide what to do with the…merchandise. Maybe Bucky’s idea from earlier is the best—he could just stuff it all in a drawer. And out of sight.

Steve gathers everything up and piles it inside one of the nightstands. Now that he’s next to the bed, he realizes what he thought were mints on the pillows aren’t mints at all. They’re condoms. He shoves them in the drawer along with the rest.

Bucky leans out of the bathroom door just as Steve slides the drawer shut, and oddly, Steve feels like he’s been caught doing something wrong. But Bucky is too preoccupied to notice his discomfort.

“There’s something weird in here. It’s a…”

Steve waits, but when Bucky doesn’t continue, he asks, “What?”

“An inflatable raft.”

Obviously, he’s heard him wrong. But what else could it be? An inflatable…ram? No, that’s worse.

“As in a _life_ raft?” Steve asks. What could people possibly do with that? Play sailor?

“No.”

When Bucky doesn’t offer any further explanation, Steve goes to investigate.

It’s not the kind of raft he was picturing. It’s flat and silver and wouldn’t be especially useful for saving people. It’s more of the kind someone would float on while getting a tan in a pool.

Bucky prods it with a single metal finger. “I don’t understand why it’s here.”

Steve doesn’t either. “For the bathtub maybe?” But even as he says it he knows that’s wrong.

Bucky shakes his head. “It wouldn’t fit.”

Steve spends a moment taking in the details of the shower stall, and while it’s nice, it isn’t nearly as appealing as the tub in the main room.

“You can use the bath if you want,” Steve offers.

Bucky snorts. “I’m not _that_ disturbed by it.”

“Just pointing out that there’s no reason not to. It’s there after all.”

Bucky studies him for a moment. Then he shrugs. “May as well.” And just like that he’s taking off his clothes.

They’ve gone swimming plenty of times, and back then nobody wore trunks—not in the quarries and swimming holes, and maybe Steve had looked, but hell, everybody did that—looking wouldn’t cause a problem. Context would. And if Steve continues to linger in the doorway, while Bucky strips down after they just spent an obscene amount of money on sex toys and lubricants, there would certainly be a problem.

Needing a diversion, Steve turns back into the main room to look for something to do, but there’s not much that isn’t going to make his filthy thoughts even filthier. Reading might be a good idea, except that all he has is the briefing (which isn't going to work) and Natasha’s letter (which isn't going to help).

There’s a binder on the television stand. Steve flips through the laminated pages and sees that it’s a catalog of services that can be delivered to the room. The menu will be helpful later, but past the food are images of costumes. There’s a schoolgirl, a firefighter, a nurse—if nothing else these could be another charge to add to the card. Although it’s difficult to imagine placing the call to request anything like that.

Bucky leaves the bathroom and crosses the room to the tub. “It’s going to take a lot of water to fill this up,” he says, casually, as he adjusts the thermostat and the flow of water.

Steve nods, keeping his eyes on the page, on the image of something pink and frilly and covered with an awful lot of small, pink cats.

“Probably better to do it just once then,” Bucky says with the same casualness from before, but there's something else in his statement. It’s almost a question, no—a request.

Steve’s judgment is something he’s always been able to rely on. He’s always been able to read people, and he’s always known how to use that information in whatever way would do the most good. But nothing that’s happened since he entered the hotel room has done anything other than knock him off balance. Everything, from the painted ceilings down to the fuzzy pink carpet, seems charged with innuendo. He can’t trust his instincts. Not here.

“We went on a trip once,” Steve says, feeling the need to say something, “when we were kids. There were hot springs there, but they were crowded. Nothing as fancy as this.”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s just us now.”

Steve wants the invitation to mean more than it does. If it were anyone else he would take the chance. Assume— _hope_ —that it did and make his intentions known. But not with Bucky.

This is ridiculous. He’s faced worse than this. Much. He’s always been capable of keeping himself under control in any circumstances. _Even_ around Bucky. And he can continue to do so, even in a love hotel, even when they’re both dripping wet and naked.

“Alright,” Steve says, driving that image out of his mind before it triggers the kind of response that’ll embarrass him.

Bucky visibly relaxes at his words, which is not the reaction Steve expects. But he doesn’t think too much about it, he just begins to unbutton his shirt.

Bucky climbs into the tub and stretches out in one curve of the heart, careful to keep his cybernetic arm above the waterline. Steve knows it can handle getting wet, but he imagines the heat would make the metal uncomfortably hot to the touch.

Steve leaves his clothes on the floor as he joins him, entering the water slowly. It’s just hot enough to need a moment to adjust to and exactly how he’s always liked it. He leans back against the curve of the tub, mirroring Bucky’s position.

“Thought you might be worried that Nat was right,” Bucky says. It’s supposed to be a joke, but his tone is flat. Forced.

Steve feels a surge of apprehension, and for a moment, he wonders if this is a test. That maybe Bucky has started to suspect something about him and has placed him in a position to see if it’s true.

But that’s not something Bucky would do, especially not about anything important, and definitely not to him.

It’s possible, that because of Bucky’s limited knowledge of his past, the prank has rattled him more than it should have. That what’s bothering Bucky is actually the other way around, and he’s starting to worry that Steve is having suspicions about _him_.

Steve searches for words to reassure him that don’t involve telling outright lies.

“I’ve always known that you like women.” Steve shrugs, trying to act like he’s indifferent to the subject.

Bucky leans his head back on the rim, his gaze directed at the ceiling. “When I first saw this place, I didn’t think you’d last three seconds before you ran screaming out the door.”

That startles a laugh out of Steve. “I’m not afraid of sex, Bucky.”

Bucky attempts a smile, but even from his angle Steve can tell it’s lopsided at best. “Depends on who it’s with.”

Steve’s heart is thumping, but he can’t respond, not until he’s sure what Bucky means. So he takes a moment to choose his words and steady his pulse.

“It’s not like either of us knew that’s what Nat intended until after we saw the letter.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Steve can’t see how that could be true. If Bucky had known what the prank was about from the beginning, he would’ve said something. He wouldn’t have just let Steve ramble on about going to a bar and getting laid, not when it must have been obvious that Steve wasn’t in on the joke. Looking for any sign that Bucky had known, Steve replays the conversation in his head.

It’s in moments like this one that Steve misses the way his memory worked before the serum, back when he was spared the ability to recall, with perfect clarity, every single word he said. Because it’s obvious that Bucky was not only aware of the situation, but that he thought Steve was too. And with that assumption, it would have sounded like Steve was offering to…

_Oh god._

Steve lets his head sink below the surface, allowing the warmth to envelop him. He can hear his heartbeat in the water, but it isn’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

Bucky had thought Steve was asking him to go to bed with him. And Steve hadn’t just caught Bucky by surprise—he’d scandalized him with it. If Steve had been seducing Bucky for real, he would’ve done a better job than that. He would’ve started slower, made sure his attentions were welcome—anything to prevent the look on Bucky’s face when he’d asked him to—

But then Bucky had said _ok._

There couldn’t have been anything else he was agreeing to.

Steve is going to need to come up for air soon, at the very least so Bucky doesn’t think he’s drowning himself in shame, but he’s having a hard time getting past that last part: _Bucky accepted his offer._

It’s impossible to believe that during all the years Steve spent hiding the way he felt, Bucky had been doing the same thing. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe it was only after they reunited that he began to see Steve differently. Either way, Steve is having trouble with the concept that Bucky might want him now.

Steve emerges from the water, and he’s grateful he has the heat to excuse the flush to his skin. It’s one of the things that makes him such an awful liar. Even about his feelings. Especially about his feelings.

“You alright?” Bucky asks.

Steve’s smile is tight. “I’m fine.”

Bucky must have ducked his own head under the water at some point, because he’s soaking wet. It’s impossible not to stare at him, not when his sleek dark hair has been pushed back in a way that’s familiar and different and everything all at once. Beads of water cling to his skin, to his lips, and Steve wants to lick them off, to nip and suck each and every drop from his face and throat.

Steve hears a quick intake of breath and realizes that Bucky is watching him.

Steve forces his gaze away. “Sorry.” _Damn._ His intentions must have been plain on his face. And even now that he knows—that he suspects—Bucky feels the same, he still doesn’t know how to approach the subject. Not when he’s already blown it once.

Steve’s aware of movement an instant before he feels the touch. It’s light, a tentative brush against his jaw, but he flinches before he processes its meaning.

Bucky yanks his fingers away from the caress, away from Steve, and his expression is closing down, retreating.

Steve’s seizes his wrist before he stops to think, before he considers that maybe restraining Bucky isn’t the smartest thing to do after what he’s been through. But all he can think is that he doesn’t want him to leave.

But Bucky doesn’t react, other than to freeze and to stare down at Steve’s hand.

“Don’t,” Steve says.

Bucky’s eyes snap to his. “I wasn’t—”

“No, I mean…” Steve realizes how he’s holding him and lets go. “You just…caught me off guard. You don’t have to stop.”

Bucky frowns, still confused.

And Steve is nowhere near having any idea, whatsoever, of what to say to make it clearer. “Oh, hell.” He lunges forward, wraps his fingers around the nape of Bucky’s neck, and kisses him.

It’s not his best—he’s too forceful, his mouth too wide, and Bucky isn’t responding. And Steve can’t find it in him to do anything about that because he’s too surprised at how different it feels to kiss a man. He’s not as soft, not as pliable, and there’s a roughness to his lips. His stubble scratches Steve’s skin.

But then Bucky’s hands come up to cradle Steve’s face, and he’s kissing him back, opening up and letting him in, and it’s hot and sweet and good. Bucky presses his mouth hard against Steve’s. He grabs his shoulders, fingers tight, like he thinks he needs to keep him in place, like he thinks Steve is going to leave.

But he’s not. He’ll be here forever if he’ll let him.

Bucky is the first to break the kiss. “Nat was right.”

Steve laughs, the kind that rumbles up from deep in his belly. “Don’t tell her that.”

Bucky isn’t laughing, but his grin is easy and just as good.

“Hell, no.” Bucky jerks his head toward the towel rack. “Want to get out?”

“Not yet.”

Apparently it wasn’t really a question because Bucky is already pulling away, already exiting the tub.

Steve makes up for the loss by watching shamelessly as Bucky towels off. The sight shouldn’t be so riveting, not when he already knows every inch of Bucky’s body as well as he knows his own. Maybe even better, since he watched Bucky grow, whereas Steve’s body was made. But none of that matters. He can’t get enough of him, can’t stop cataloging every plane and every line.

Later he’s going to capture this image on paper.

If Bucky minds he doesn’t say anything. Although he does give Steve a strange look once he’s finished.

“Hurry up,” Bucky says, offering Steve the towel.

Steve raises himself reluctantly from the water, eyeing the towel. “That one’s wet,” he says, but he takes it anyways.

“Didn’t know Captain America was so picky.” Bucky leans back against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and one corner of his mouth tugs upward as his eyes deliberately trace Steve’s body.

So it’s fair turnabout he wants, and Steve, if anything, has always been fair. He moves the (damp and unpleasant) towel lazily over his chest and down his thighs, and it’s worth it just to keep Bucky looking at him the way he is, his eyes intent on each motion of Steve’s hand.

He’s nowhere near dry when Bucky yanks the towel from his fingers and stuffs it messily on the rack.

“Or so slow,” Bucky adds. It’s supposed to be teasing, the easy banter between friends, between partners. But it’s not that now.

Steve answers the provocation with a push, not hard, just enough to get Bucky back against the wall. Bucky’s eyes are dark, his mouth parted, and it draws Steve in until he’s close enough to feel the heat radiating off damp skin.

But he doesn’t touch. Only braces his arms against the cool plaster and brushes his lips against Bucky’s, savoring his quick intake of breath.

“Is that a problem?” Steve asks.

He expects Bucky to come back at him with another barb, but he doesn’t. He only pulls Steve closer, his arms tightening around him.

Steve’s hands slide down to caress Bucky’s sides, stroking his skin and slipping lower, down to clutch his hips. He wants to explore further, and the pressure of Bucky’s mouth urges him onward, but he holds back, unsure of what he’s allowed to touch.

“You’d tell me,” Bucky says around the kiss. “If we’ve done this before.”

“Yeah.” It takes Steve a second to realize that could be taken more than one way. “I would. And we haven’t.”

“Good.” Bucky braces his hands on Steve’s chest and pushes him away. He takes Steve’s hand and tugs him toward the bed.

It’s not where Steve thought this would go, not so soon, but it’s definitely where he wants to be. Bucky crawls backward, drawing Steve after him across the sheets. There’s something almost sinful about the way the red contrasts with Bucky’s skin. But the pillows…

Bucky must come to the same conclusion, for he twists to sweep the entire mound onto the floor. But it’s too late, because Steve will never let go of the image of Bucky on his back, his face surrounded by lacy hearts.

“Stop grinning,” Bucky says.

“I’m not.”

Bucky annoyance doesn’t fade, but rather than argue he pulls Steve down on top of him, kissing Steve until the cause of the grin is shoved to the back of his mind. And Bucky is good at this, memories or no. He wraps his legs around Steve’s hips. And god that’s hot. And you don’t do that unless you want—unless you want to be—

“Let me have you,” Steve says, and that’s not what he means. Although it is, he wants to press Bucky to the mattress, wants to watch his face while he drags sounds from him he won’t admit to tomorrow. But that’s not all of it. That’s not the important part.

“You can have me too. If you want.” Steve kisses his cheek, feeling Bucky’s lashes flutter against his nose. “Want you so much, Buck.”

Bucky groans, but he braces his hands against Steve’s chest and shoves him off. Steve’s gut twists sharp and cold. He’s gone too far, and he silently curses his stupidity.

But Bucky only rolls onto his stomach, maneuvering so he can open the nightstand and toss a handful of items from the vending machine onto the bed.

He’s willing. Fuck, he’s willing. Steve slides forward to kiss his shoulder, the back of his neck, his hair—anywhere he can reach. Bucky’s skin is warm, and when he presses his lips to the side of his face, he lingers, inhaling the scent of him.

“You’re blocking my view,” Bucky says.

Steve tilts his head to see, and yeah, those metal fingers are doing a better job of spreading the packages around rather than actually finding what he’s looking for.

Instead of taking pity on him, Steve licks down his neck, biting where it meets his shoulder just hard enough to make Bucky gasp, to make his fingers stretch out splayed and immobile. He wants Bucky to be as hot for this as he is.

But then Bucky’s twisting away from him, flipping onto his back. Steve starts to smirk, the words _giving up?_ on his lips, but before he can speak Bucky grabs his hand and thrusts two of Steve’s fingers into his mouth.

The heat closes around Steve’s skin, and his mind clears of all but the suction, the caress of his tongue, and _Jesus Christ_ how can he be this turned on just from Bucky doing that to his _hand_.

Bucky slides his lips free of Steve’s fingers. “Still want to make this take longer?”

Steve feels like he’s being scolded, and there is something endearing about Bucky bossing him when Steve’s about to—and yeah, he knows better than to ever say that thought out loud.

“No.” Steve takes a moment to breathe while Bucky gets the package he’s after.

He gives it to Steve. There’s a picture of a watermelon on it, a flavored gel of some kind, or maybe a body oil, or lube—he doesn’t know, maybe it’s all three. But he tears it open, and it’s slick. It’ll work.

Bucky turns back onto his stomach. It’s not the position Steve would have chosen, but that’s not as important as that Bucky gets what he wants.

Steve’s still hesitant to touch Bucky, he wants it too much, and it’s almost as if at any moment the dream will burst, and he’ll disappear. So he spreads it over himself first, but then there’s no reason left to delay.

Bucky goes still as Steve makes him ready. He’s careful, he doesn’t know if Bucky’s done this before, and right now he’s not interested in knowing, only wants to be sure that Bucky’s enjoying it. The one eye he can see is heavy-lidded, and his skin flushed, so he thinks that he is.

“Tell me when,” Steve says.

“When.”

“Buck—”

“Now.”

Steve lines up with Bucky’s entrance, pressing against slick skin.

But then he pauses. “I just—you know we can stop anytime, if—”

Bucky pushes back against him. The sensation is unexpected, and Steve has to breathe, deep and slow, to get past it.

“ _Steve_.”

“Now?”

Bucky huffs. “I don’t think you understand the meaning of that word.”

Steve presses a brief grin at himself—and at Bucky—into the skin of Bucky’s back, turning it into a kiss. Then, before Bucky can become any more impatient, he enters him. He goes slowly, letting them both get used to feeling.

Bucky’s breath hitches, and Steve forces himself to stop, breathing deep against his neck. He soothes his hands across Bucky’s shoulders and down his arms, works his mouth against his neck until he feels him relax. Until he feels Bucky push back onto him and hears small sounds escape his lips. Steve strokes his fingers along Bucky’s sides as he begins to thrust steadily harder.

Bucky is moving in time with him, and Steve leans back, pulling Bucky’s hips firmly against him. Steve has access to all of him now, and his fingers seek the places that make Bucky jerk, that make the air explode from his lungs.

And god Bucky’s beautiful like this. He always was, but now—his head thrown back, damp hair shifting to obscure some features and reveal others—he’s better than anything Steve’s ever imagined.

Somehow Bucky is the first to finish. Watching him, all Steve can think is how perfect this is, how good they fit, and that he never wants it—any of it—to be over, because he can’t lose him again, not now. And then Steve isn’t thinking anything as he follows in his wake.

 

 #

 

Steve is lying on his side, tracing a finger down the curve of Bucky’s hip. His skin is damp with sweat and his hair is wet from the bath, but Steve doesn’t care. He can get the pillows as drenched as he wants. He’s just happy he’s here.

“You look like you’re having sappy thoughts,” Bucky says as if he’s needling him, but he’s not. He’s testing to see if Steve is actually is doing what he wants Steve to be doing. He’s fishing.

“Just wondering what the hourly rate is.” Steve smiles sweetly at him.

 Bucky snorts. “Let’s just hope Nat doesn’t cancel the card. Or we won’t be getting out.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“Did you read anything the note said?” He rolls his eyes at Steve’s expression. “You’re supposed to be the prepared one.”

“Because Captain America should know how to handle himself in a sex hotel?”

“If you’d read it.” Bucky pauses to allow time for the unvoiced _like you were supposed to_ , “you’d know we’re locked in. No getting out till we’ve paid in full.”

Steve frowns. “They can’t just hold people here, that’s—”

“I’m sure it’s not an issue. The people that stay here know what kind of place this is, so—” Bucky stops and gives Steve a sheepish look. “Well, most of them do anyway, so they know what the rates are and probably only stay for an hour or two. The bill isn’t going to be much different than what they expect.”

Steve takes a moment to think about that. It’s possible, although he still doesn’t like the idea.

“Besides,” Bucky continues, “it’s not like they could stop _us_ from getting out.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate us breaking down the door, Buck.”

Bucky shrugs, but Steve can tell his indifference is forced. He’s struggling to hide his amusement, which only makes it harder for Steve to keep his own expression neutral.

But he does his best. “Worst comes to worst…” Steve slowly shakes his head. “They would just have to move the press conference here.”

Bucky blinks exactly twice before his face lights up. “Yes.” He rolls onto his back and spreads his hands out as if to frame the headline. “Captain America delivers speech on latest Stark innovations. Guaranteed to improve international relations. Gives intimate demonstration in bed with Winter Soldier.”

Steve laughs. “If only they could get their cameras in.”

“They could pass them through the food delivery slot.” Bucky waves at the sliding panel next to the door.

Steve had wondered what that was. He’d guessed storage cabinet, but this option is more useful.

“Speaking of which,” Bucky says, “Nat owes us dinner.”

Steve’s desire for revenge had faded around the time Bucky had kissed him back, and with everything that happened afterward, well, he almost feels like he should be buying Nat dinner. At the very least, he’s paying her back for the room and everything they charged on her card during their stay.

But he’s not going to tell Bucky that. Not when it might get him called a sap.

“Ok.” Steve swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll get the menu.”

 

#

 

Steve wakes to the sound of his communicator. He rubs the sleep from his eyes to read the screen, and then sets it down, unanswered, on the nightstand.

“Who is it?” Bucky mumbles from beneath the covers.

“Nat.” And there’s a good chance that whatever she wants is going to require Steve to get out of bed—a bed that is warm and cozy and populated with only him and Bucky—but that’s because Natasha only calls when it’s about something important. Repressing his groan, Steve retrieves the communicator.

Bucky’s hand shoots out from under the covers, feeling its way down Steve’s arm to snag the device and yank it back inside.

Steve pulls the covers back so he can see. He half expects Bucky to throw it—or crush it in his fingers—but he only brings it to his ear.

“Morning, Nat,” Bucky says.

“Where are you? The press conference is in forty-five minutes.” Natasha’s voice manages to sound both urgent and perfectly even. “And where’s Steve? I called Steve.”

“Mmm. Yeah, he’s here.” The grin Bucky shoots Steve is all the warning he gets. “And you were right.”

“Right? About what?”

“About us, about what we needed. And Steve was, absolutely, the best sex that I’m capable of remembering.”

This time it’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes.

Bucky lifts an eyebrow at him and there is as much challenge as there is amusement in it.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s chest and pulls him close. There is silence on the other end of the line, although if he tries, Steve can make out her breathing.

“Are you fucking with me?” Natasha says finally.

“I’m thanking you.” Bucky’s smirk can be heard in his voice. “See you in forty-five minutes.” He closes the communicator.

Steve kisses his ear, and Bucky hums in appreciation.

“I thought you weren’t going to tell her that?” Steve says.

Bucky shrugs. “She’d figure it out sooner or later, now that we’re an item.” It takes about three seconds after the words are out for Bucky to realize what he’s said and go stiff.

Steve conceals his joy—which undamped looks a lot like amusement—by pressing a row of kisses along Bucky’s neck.

But Bucky’s backtracking too hard to appreciate his efforts. “Not that we’re an item. We just—”

“Yes.” Steve touches his lips to Bucky’s cheek, and whispers the next part against his skin. “Yes, definitely.”

Bucky hunts through the blankets until he finds Steve’s hand. He threads their fingers together and squeezes.

Steve feels the muscles in Bucky’s face bunch as he smiles, and he kisses them soundly. “Now who’s having sappy thoughts?”

Bucky snorts, but he doesn’t look any less pleased. “I was thinking about how much we need a shower.”

Steve likes the easy way he says that, as if showering is just another thing Bucky assumes they’ll do together. But that doesn’t mean Steve is ready to leave the bed.

“Or we could stay here for forty-five minutes.”

Bucky twists around to face him. “Look at you—skipping paperwork, ignoring instructions, being late—you’re going to be a bad influence on me.

“Forty minutes then.” Steve presses him onto his back, and he relishes the rumble of Bucky’s laugh as he mouths his way down his chest.

“Twenty.”

“Thirty-nine.” As Steve moves lower, Bucky’s laugh breaks into another sound, not a whimper—but not anything else either.

“That’s not—the minute thing—that’s not how it works,” Bucky says, apparently unwilling to concede. “You’re not good at this—ah—negotiations thing.”

Steve stops. “Who says I’m not?”

“I do.” Bucky shifts so he can peer down at him when Steve doesn’t continue. “But I didn’t say you had to stop.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve raises his eyebrows at Bucky in a way guaranteed to get him an eye-roll. But he doesn’t expect it to last, not when he has such an effective method of ending it.

“Or you could—” Bucky’s head tilts back and his lips part as Steve’s mouth slips over its goal. “Or…yeah. That’s cheating.”

Steve nods, but it’s not in agreement.

Bucky’s fingers curl into Steve’s hair, his touch only firm enough to show that he wants Steve close.

And Steve is happy to comply.

**Author's Note:**

> RowanBaines' lovely art for this story is posted [here.](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/post/98680850906/a-scene-from-druxykexys-hilarious-story-my)
> 
> Thank you [Plaidshirtjimkirk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Plaidshirtjimkirk) for beta reading and for the extensive help (and pictures!) on how love hotels work! And thank you [RowanBaines](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines) for beta reading and the art!
> 
> This story was based on this prompt (I apologize for only half following it):  
> Steve and Bucky somehow ended up staying in a love hotel. They decide to take advantage of everything offered there, be it the collection of exotic sex toys and porn and bubble baths and everything.  
> 
> 
> And in case anyone is wondering, the inflatable raft is for people who want extra cushioning when lying or kneeling on the bathroom tiles. I definitely would not have figured that out without Plaidshirt's explanation.
> 
> This was sort of an experiment to see if I was capable of writing something in present tense. I apologize for any mistakes I made with that.


End file.
